


midsommar

by minbar



Series: music to be remembered by [1]
Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, Gift Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pope Marauder, Romance, Valentine's Day, pope marauder cinematic universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29528580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minbar/pseuds/minbar
Summary: in action, how like an angel.---a marauder-centric gift fic
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Marauder(s)
Series: music to be remembered by [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169306
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	midsommar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pamphylia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pamphylia/gifts).



> trigger warning for mild alcohol use/drinking, descriptions of gore, and implied suggestive content.
> 
> apologies to those who expected an ARC-centric fic. they will remain my main focus, but there will be minor exceptions based off context.
> 
> admetos and ganymede aren't mine.

the entrenched, summer rain of argent d’nur was terse. each pin of the monsoon fat with argon and carbon, as heavy as the air was with the elements. despite this, it attracted to the stained glass of the tall cathedral windows; magnetic in how the featherweight the drops were against the patterns, telling tales of lords and seraphs that may not exist to the skeptic. nonetheless, the innocent drops traced the lines, indiscriminate on whether they be a simple mark amongst the faded colours or if it were cursive, spidery cracks embellishing the corners, worn from battle and age.

among the ruin of it all, the fire and brimstone embraced the dark amber mist, stirring awake to fog the atmosphere and cloud over the windows, a mere shadow of the white on earth, but imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity could pay to greatness, after all. headless, gargoyle statues paid no heed to this, so why should ganymede?

ganymede picked mindlessly at the rusted lock of the smothered cathedral windows, the miasma, congestion, utter filth of the outside that obscured his sight still allowing for the torch lights to burn through, colouring his undead, pallid face. a silver termite ran down the creaky, asymmetric cathedral benches, pattering on the floor near ganymede’s shoe. 

bored blue bore into each movement of the pest, just one more scum that inhabited the wonderland of pandemonium, judging by how it attempted to circle around ganymede’s foot, it wasn’t the brightest organism. unique from the sensory overload of hell, was the saving grace. upon closer inspection, one petite, raven leg was frozen, leaving the thing crippled.

reaching out to cradle the insect which would so easily rest in the curve of his gloved nail, his arm shot back when a firm stomp was applied onto the ground, revealing itself from bellowing, ebon robes with speed equivalent to ganymede’s arm dodging the blow.

a blink segmented each of the boot’s movements, grinding the cadaver of the pest in grey into the floorboards. ganymede simply looked up once the leg drew itself back into the robes.

“ganymede, i have not made you aware, but i don’t very much like termites,”

ganymede fiddled his clawed fingers together, the points of the adept nails teetering on the edge of breaking apart in ganymede’s lap.

“there was no need to kill it, father admetos,” ganymede frowned, obscured behind the mechanical mask, a stark contrast from the dark, organic drapes they donned.

“mercy, ganymede? i’ve taught you better. rise and approach the altar with me,”

ganymede blinked up at admetos, admetos blinked back. knowing admetos...

“i insist,”

...it was more of a command than a mere request or lord forbid, an invitation.

hesitant, ganymede rose from the bench, the glass chandelier consumed and knee deep in pearly, sheer cobwebs looming above the two popes, creaking by the hinges of the metal they were supported by, which in turn gave way for the wood to cry from the weight. the thumping was commonplace at this point, almost charming in its own way.

admetos inserted the bronze corkscrew into the beige wine stopper, his thick, aged wrists young again in its quick turning of the screw penetrating the cork, passionate in conquering the chartreuse hued bottle, glinting lazily in the half-dimmed lights of the cathedral. 

the top gave away with a pop, rolling on the table, covered with a pure white sheet. it was a brief reminder of ganymede’s old robes, as an apprentice of the scholarly admetos, but ganymede quickly schooled these thoughts prominent in his head. it was illogical. many things were white, but many things weren’t his old robes.

admetos slid a pair of starry-eyed, limpid wine glasses across the table to lay bare in front of his critical gaze, innocent in its emptiness, debauched in its prohibition. tipping the curvy bottle over,the incarnadine liquid soon circumvented the void - was it half full or half empty? why bother.

ganymede’s eyes dejectedly looked around the cathedral, lifting his thumb up to his mouth on instinct to bite the comforting digit before the clash between glove and the metal blades on the front of his voice modulator clattered together. ganymede froze, admetos having already turned around with the glass in hand and offering it to him. 

“quit that,”

“what, may i ask?”

“do not play coy with me. biting your nails, it’s an unhealthy habit,”

ganymede rejected rolling his eyes at admetos’ sudden concern, adjusting the grip of the glass into his other hand as he reached behind his pointed horns, grown virgin from the sides of his skull where his ears would be, relatively unscathed by the metal tools at hand which would have carved his whole life’s story into simple words rounding the girth of his horns, unlike admetos’. the metal scales on the front of his mask drew up, revealing ganymede’s ripped mouth and allowing him to finally bring his mouth to the glass. admetos simply opted for the removal of his entire mask, stood upright onto the table all too similar to a decorative, yellowed skull.

draining the glass ounce by ounce, his throat struggling against the firmly-pressed uniform collar, ganymede pulled the glass away to finally voice his response.

“drinking is not honourable either, father admetos,”

his tone, almost mild in its hidden jest, did not rile the elder marauder.

“you, drinking in lockstep? your affairs with the slayer? i did not expect you to fall into hypocrisy so easily, father ganymede,”

ganymede’s face burned, desaturated blood rising to his face and scorching in his inner nostrils, throbbing at his temples. despite admetos’ forced posture and body in sync with his age, his processing and argumentation was that of a rebellious choir boy.

“i’ll...i will be outside,” ganymede stuttered, still in the film about his checkmate.

“return by the chime of the bell, boy. your instrument needs maintenance,”

“yes, father admetos,” with a cross, slight bow of the head and the thump of the bottom of the glass returning on the table, ganymede turned and went down the aisle, carpeted in red. In preparation for the outside atmosphere, he set the front of the mask back in place, apparent in his now mechanical breathing.

the door was undeniable in its weight, heavy when opened, heavy when closed. this duality comforted ganymede as he set his back onto the wood, layering the metal in the heart of the entrance. more peace of mind than the benches inside, meant for use.

ganymede quivered, the torrent outside malevolent in its quest, ruining the ground and all else with it, drenching ganymede at the shoulders which faded into the fabric. it wouldn’t have been better, even with his hat unmade for this weather, but there was no use for bitterness, not even in a disguised laugh.

folly.

massaging his aching temples between his clawed fingers, the droplets claimed his neck, rolling down onto and into the buttoned collar, down onto his broad shoulder blades before they evaporated with the warmth of his body. he had no rush, in fact, it was favourable to get back into the warm, dry inside with admetos and take claim on the remnants of the bottle, but there was no draw.

it’s like he’s been down this road before.

the fog was thick and the air was thin, but which fog was it? maybe he was a light-weight after all; can’t contain his liquor. what else couldn’t he…

“slayer,”

ganymede’s head jerked up at the tall, foreign shadow illuminated by the green torches afire, his presence set in stone against the almost sandy desert backdrop of argent d’nur. a small, metallic noise came from ganymede’s call, ganymede’s eyes tracing a bullet flying into the beyond, recognizing it from the beast’s heavy cannon. if the slayer could speak, that bullet was all he needed.

_ i’m here. _

the slayer revealed himself from the rock, the terrain already having given away his position. it would have been a death wish (if it were possible, in ganymede’s mind) by any other name.

ganymede fixed his posture in anticipation (or even anxiety?) of approaching the great slayer, but the slayer held his arm up, rapidly approaching ganymede’s spot adjacent to the cathedral. curious, ganymede’s eyes spaced out, focusing on what the slayer was lugging behind him, obscured by the slayer’s broad figure.

once the distance was thoroughly closed, the slayer tossed the object of interest between them, revealing it to be the twitching corpse of an imp, the back surprisingly clean but the slayer having made up for his dazed bloodlust by thoroughly mutilating the lower half, leaving vestiges of what made up the imp’s pelvis, femur, and smaller intestines to hang, pendulous. there seemed no more blood to give, having been soaked up by the path to this location. the slayer repositioned himself so that the bisected imp laid between his legs on the asphalt-like cobblestone.

_ ‘do you have time, ganymede?’ _

ganymede’s eyes darted to peer into the cathedral window, seeing admetos still seated at the table, almost intent on ignoring ganymede’s gaze. his head turned away.

“slayer, please. the bells must be ringing soon, this can wai-”

once ganymede’s head swivelled back, he was met with the sight of the slayer kneeling onto the corpse of the imp, knee pressed firm between the imp’s shoulder blades, surely crushing the spine. the slayer’s hands dominated over the opened, velvet box in his palm - revealing two, silver rings stacked on top of another, a thin chain running down this tower and laying on the black cushion inside, glinting lazily in all of the light hell had to bring. ganymede’s reflection glared back at him.

ganymede froze, the slayer only blinking expectantly in return. Untucking his other hand, he signed, slow and methodical, so unlike him -

_ ‘will you marry me, father ganymede taggart to-be?’ _

from the inside of his mask, from the sharp, hawk-like metal blades, ganymede’s breaths fogged onto the slayer’s reflection like the windows, a wet stream running down the sharp angles of his face.

tears, from his sickly lament.

ganymede opened his mouth, dry with salt but the inside of his mask musky and muggy.

_ “...aah, aaa...ahh..!” _

pathetic.

collapsing on the edge from his blue eyes, the tears ran rampant down ganymede’s swollen, hot face, down into the mask, risking rust, infusing into the midsummer rain his own salt and sanctimony.

the slayer quickly stood up, wrapping an arm around ganymede’s waist to keep the unstable marauder upright. ganymede encircled the slayer’s neck, embracing into the slayer’s shoulder. humming, his gaze rose to meet admetos’, his usual glower tender and acknowledging, lifting himself from the chair and leaving deeper into the cathedral.

between sobs, the result was but a whisper.

_ “i do.” _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> a valentine's day gift fic posted four days late.
> 
> requested by and dedicated to pamphylia, my starling.


End file.
